


Us Or the Hatchet

by Lise



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, I meant this to be shippier than it was, M/M, Mereth Aderthad, Reunions, Surprise Kissing, in which Caranthir is grumpy and Angrod hides his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Feast of Reuniting is supposed to be an occasion for celebration, renewal, and reconciliation. Caranthir is skeptical. Angrod is pretending not to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us Or the Hatchet

**Author's Note:**

> [outoflullabies](http://outoflullabies.tumblr.com) requested fic for Angrod/Caranthir, the best, tiniest pairing. Well, maybe not _the_ tiniest. But it's up there. This didn't end up as shippy as I wanted it to - that tends to be my problem! - but it was still really fun to write. 
> 
> Caranthir's POV is the grumpiest POV and I kind of love it.

Caranthir spent the first hour of the damned feast in studious avoidance of all of his family members, right up until Angrod managed to corner him. And of _course_ it was Angrod. Sometimes Caranthir thought that he’d somehow earned the personal grudge of a Maia. It would make sense. 

“Well, look who it is.”

_Please,_ Maedhros had said, nearly pleading. _Try to behave. For my sake if nothing else._ Caranthir winced and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this. “Angaráto. What a nice surprise.”

“My dear cousin. You are absolutely too kind.” Angrod’s expression was thoroughly placid. “You look well.”

“As do you,” Caranthir said roughly. 

“Do I?” Angrod held his arms out and looked down as though to inspect himself. “How strange. I suppose I must be beginning to fill out at last, after our long journey. But that’s all been forgotten now, hasn’t it?”

_It wasn’t my idea to burn the ships_ , Caranthir wanted to snap. For Nelyo’s sake, he told himself. His elder brother already looked like he had a continual headache. There was no reason to give him more of one. “I’m glad to hear you’re recovering,” he said, as stiffly formal as he could manage. Angrod’s eyebrows crept up and then he laughed, suddenly. 

“You’re as good at these things as you ever were, cousin. Which is to say not at all. One would think you were at a funeral rather than a celebration.” Angrod shook his head and grinned. “Lighten up.”

Caranthir found the sincerity of that smile highly suspect, but he wasn’t about to remark on it, at least not just now. He stared at Angrod for a few moments, then wrinkled his nose. “Why don’t you talk to Tyelko? He’d be happy to see you.”

“ _Would_ he,” Angrod said, and there was something there but Caranthir couldn’t quite catch it. “Alas for you, poor Moryo, I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment. Talking to Ireth, you know. So you it is. Don’t you want to spend time with your most favorite cousin?”

Caranthir snorted unwillingly at the sparkling innocence in Angrod’s doe-eyed expression. “Since when are you my favorite cousin?” 

“There’s not very steep competition, is there?” Angrod said, with a grin so exaggeratedly charming that Caranthir had to make a face at him, and was rewarded with a little more genuine smile. “If you’re going to stand in a corner and glower at everyone, you might as well glower at everyone in good company.”

“You,” Caranthir translated. 

“But of course.”

He would never, Caranthir was pretty sure, understand any of his Arafinwëan cousins, but particularly this one. As Curufin frequently put it, he had all the subtlety of a hammer to the face and considerably less charm. Angrod’s family loved their subtlety and charm. It made them good diplomats. 

Caranthir wondered if this, right now, was diplomacy. All part of this ridiculous charade that they were all friends again. 

Angrod was scrutinizing him, and then reached out and grabbed his elbow. “Come, cousin. Let’s step outside. You can even bring some ale if you must. Let’s talk.” 

“Talk,” Caranthir said skeptically, as Angrod started to draw him through the crowd. 

“Before I kill you,” Angrod said cheerfully, and then cast a smile over his shoulder and said, “oh, but that’s more your thing, isn’t it?”

Yeah. Sure. All was forgiven. 

Caranthir bought that.

* * *

It was a pleasant evening. The air was warm, the breeze very slight. It made Caranthir itchy. He fidgeted. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Angrod’s eyebrows went up. “Do I have to want to talk _about_ something? Time was we spent an awful lot of time talking about nothing.” 

“Time was,” Caranthir said blandly. “Things change.” Angrod’s grin flickered. 

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I suppose they do.” He glanced aside, playing with his finery. He looked, Caranthir realized, as uncomfortable in it as Caranthir felt. That had always been one of their commonalities, hadn’t it, though? One of the few. “—I’m not going to bludgeon you over the head with a rock,” Angrod snapped, after a moment’s pause. “Stop looking at me like that. This is a reunion. A reconciliation.” 

“You believe that?” Caranthir said dryly. 

“Yes,” said Angrod, defiantly, and then exhaled sharply. “…no. Maybe not. But I’m still not going to kill you. You have no idea what Findaráto would do to me.”

Caranthir snorted. “Scold you very severely, I suppose.” Angrod looked wryly amused. 

“You’ve never had Findaráto mad at you, _clearly._ ”

That much was true. Caranthir hadn’t. He had a hard time picturing his stunningly diplomatic cousin as anything but…well, stunningly diplomatic. Stern, maybe. But not intimidating. Maybe his sense of intimidating was skewed based on his family. That was…actually a fairly strong possibility. “No,” he said, finally, “I guess I haven’t.” 

“Lucky you.” Angrod stopped, and gave Caranthir a long look. “I’m not going to express my sympathies for your father’s death.” 

“I’d laugh if you did,” Caranthir said coolly. “I’m not crying my eyes out.” If Curufin heard him say that…but it was truth. And more so every time he looked at Amrod, like a hollow shell of himself. Yeah, none of this had been _his_ idea. 

But they were his brothers. 

“What’s that?” Angrod asked, with a gesture at what Caranthir was holding. 

“Wine. Not very good, though.” Angrod held out a hand, and after a moment Caranthir proferred his glass. His cousin took it and drained the rest. Caranthir scowled but decided not to pick a fight over it. Angrod grimaced. 

“I see what you mean. Besides, if I want to get drunk I’m going to need something stronger.” 

“You want to get drunk?” Caranthir said, a little incredulous. Angrod gave him a look that was just faintly scathing. 

“Yes, I do. How else am I supposed to get through this without snapping? Whatever Findaráto’s trick is, he hasn’t shared it with me.” Angrod looked placidly at Caranthir. “Are you going to help me or do I have to do this on my own?” 

“No,” Caranthir said after a moment. “I’ll help.” If for no other reason than seeing Angrod drunk. He gestured at the glass. “You’re right about the wine, though. And I think I can find that something stronger.”

“Knew I could count on you,” Angrod said pleasantly. Caranthir shot him a look. 

“And that’s supposed to mean what?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” Angrod said, in a tone that was not reassuring in the least, and made a grand gesture. “Lead on.”

* * *

Caranthir didn’t think he was drunk. Yet. Or at least he was pretty sure. Mostly sure. 

“Yes,” Angrod said, not terribly clearly. “Yes, this is definitely much…better. Much more tolerable. Finish my glass?” he held it out, and Caranthir sat up enough to snag it. Then frowned. 

“This is empty.” 

“Is it?” Angrod sounded just a little too innocent. Caranthir was immediately skeptical, but it didn’t seem worth pursuing. He set the glass aside. “So,” he said, and then quite forgot what he’d been meaning to say. 

“So,” Angrod continued for him. “Here we are. The whole family together again. Less a few, I suppose. What do you think about that?” 

“It’s not for very long,” Caranthir said, feeling slightly testy. “Once this is done, everyone will scatter again. We can’t guard this land from here.”

Angrod lay back, hands loosely splayed above his head. “Guard this land. Yes, of course. And steal back your precious stones from Moringotto.” There was something faintly sneering about his voice that made Caranthir bristle. 

“And hold him back from ruling this place,” he added. “If the Valar do nothing, after all-”

Angrod raised one hand and waved it loosely. “I don’t want to argue about this.” 

“What _do_ you want?” Caranthir demanded, and Angrod opened his eyes and looked straight at Caranthir. He could see the difference, suddenly. His cousin looked older, maybe, but more than that, he looked harder. Like everything that Caranthir remembered, the silliness and exuberant humor had been ground away and replaced with a fragile pretense of the same. 

“I don’t know,” Angrod said, looking away. “I don’t know what I…to pretend, I guess. What have you got to be so testy about?” 

Caranthir shifted. “What’s the point?” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “This whole thing’s a farce. Nothing’s been forgiven. Nobody trusts anybody else. It’s diplomatic foolishness.” 

Angrod laughed, something strangely sharp about the sound. “That ‘diplomatic foolishness’ is what’s going to keep all of us alive. You’re an idiot, Carnistir. It doesn’t matter what anyone really feels. We don’t have the choice to not forgive you. We need to be united. Whatever we _want_ , we _need_ to be a solid front.” Angrod’s tone was faintly bitter. “We follow the High King’s lead.”

“There’s no point to an alliance built on lies,” Caranthir said, and Angrod gave him a hard look. 

“Most alliances are. Or have you told Elwë what happened at Alqualondë?” He asked mockingly, and Caranthir’s temper rose. 

“Don’t get self-righteous at me, you always-”

“Self-righteous!” Angrod’s voice rose precipitously, and he sat up, swaying slightly. “You’d call _me_ self-righteous? Do you have any idea what it was like? Do you even have the _faintest_ sense of the hell you condemned us to? And you’d call me _self-righteous-_ ” Angrod almost seemed to choke, swallowing his words. “Damn you.”

Caranthir shoved himself to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re expecting from me-”

Angrod’s hand snapped out and snagged his sleeve, not quite tugging at it. “No, Moryo…wait. I don’t want to argue. Not right now.” Now he just sounded tired. Tired and perhaps slightly drunk. “We’re all fucked, you know. _Tears unnumbered._ Amras’s dead, isn’t he?” 

Caranthir didn’t pull away. “Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “On the ships.” His voice sounded rough in his own ears. Grim, almost toneless. “He wanted to go back, it looks like.”

“Damn.” Angrod did tug, then, just lightly. “Sit.” Caranthir sat, and Angrod shifted so he was propped against Caranthir’s legs, head tilted back to look at him upside down.

“Angamaitë,” Caranthir started awkwardly, after a few moments. 

“Don’t apologize to me,” Angrod snapped. “If you apologize to me I’ll punch you in the face and then we’ll get into a brawl and won’t _that_ just ruin everybody’s evening.”

“If you think I’m going to apologize to you you’re crazier than you were back in Aman.” Caranthir grimaced. “It was just…well. Wouldn’t have much of anyone to talk to at family gatherings if you’d died out there.”

“Mmm.” Angrod’s voice was painfully dry. “I’d miss you too. Even though you’re an idiot. And an ass.”

“Thanks,” Caranthir said, equally dryly. Angrod’s smile was crooked. 

“You’re welcome.” Angrod fell silent, and for a moment Caranthir thought he’d fallen asleep. A moment later, however, he blinked and smiled crookedly. “I promised my sister I wouldn’t do anything stupid tonight.”

Caranthir raised his eyebrows. “Have you done something stupid?” 

“I’m about to,” Angrod said, and then shifted, grabbed a hank of Caranthir’s hair, and dragged his head down to kiss him, fast and rough and clumsy. Before Caranthir could quite pull his thoughts together, he’d already let go and rolled to his feet, more agile than Caranthir would have expected, though he wobbled precariously. 

“You’re right, you know,” Angrod said, after a moment. “About alliances built on lies. They can’t last. Eventually it’ll…fall apart.” There was something quietly unhappy in his face. Caranthir was still trying to work out what had just happened, and blinked. 

“Have you run mad? – what does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’d be sorry,” Angrod went on, as though he hadn’t heard, “but I’m really trying to apologize less.”

“You just _kissed_ me!” Caranthir said, trying for indignant and only achieving incredulous. 

“Well observed,” said Angrod, something strange about his tone. “Now I can cross that off my to do list.” He sauntered out while Caranthir was still trying to work out what had just happened.

He had a distinct feeling that there was a game he had just lost.


End file.
